(no subject)
"Above the clouds, it's always blue."
Just a line I've been trying to work into something bigger for years, but I'm packing a bowl right now, have a good glass of beer in front of me, and feel a slight muse coming with this bowl of Warlock X. We'll see...
Sometimes, on a drive to work, the skies open up and wiper blades start their mixed-rhythm dances. The foreboding of another 9 hours of crap (whose only breaks are shrouded with clouds and a steady drizzle) looms heavily on the horizon, and the crushing begins.
The crushing: the sudden self-destroying fatigue of a life in a constant state of stasis. Visions of rock stars mingle with fantasies of movie stardom to form a sludge of barista work and "customer service" that considers "customers" to be numbers and not people. Fuck alliteration - the only things smooth and flowing are the bullshit, corporate rules, and my dry cappucinos (which are fantastic, by the way). And all spured by a gray morning and splashes on the windshield.
Without rhyme or reason, the line continues in my head: I am not Dan McIsaac (www.crawlwalktravel.com -read it or die). That's it - end of discussion. I'm here, and I'll be here tomorrow, and the rain won't stop. It never stops. You have to live here to appreciate Duritz dubbing himself the Rain King. But then it happens...
Without warning, the sky opens again, but in a different sense. The rain still falls, but up in the sky - a bird, a plane, no! It's actual SKY! And it's BLUE!
It's true - the sky is blue. It's not light refracted off the o-zone layer - it just exists as blue. Blue.
Suddenly, the rain drops get smaller, and the traffic opens a lane for me to drive like a New Englander who knows that a little bit of rain doesn't necessitate driving 40 on a 4-lane highway.
And my bosses can act like customers are numbers and worry that the health inspector is constantly waiting in the shadows for a milk to be out for one minute past the timer's beep, but I know better and they don't control me. The people I serve all love me. The tips show it. The Medium non-fat no-foam decaf lattes I have to make for Marin-ites all day are certainly better than working by myself in a cold warehouse. And then there's the co-workers...
Imperfect. Downright horrible at times. But that's the beauty of it: the girl who bitches about everything, the stoner with the hot girlfriend, the college kid obsessed with the Oakland A's, the philosophical intellectual with no people skills - like any puzzle, independent pieces may be useless, but together we make sure the conversation never ends. The upper management love me and live vicariously through my anarchistic stubbornness, and the young kids that manage shifts constantly try to demean me and establish a dominance that'll never exist. The dynamic is gorgeous.
The clouds fix their mistake quickly and cover the slight blue haze I saw for a minute or two, but it's too late - the beautiful damage is done, and I've once again realized that you don't have to be a witty writer/musician in southeast Asia for life to be "right", and you don't even have to be where you want to be. Jeff Buckley was right - "the only goal is in the process" and the process may not make sense, and may not be right, but hey - I can't see the big picture yet, and as Ben Folds said, "all the wrong turns and stumbles and falls lead me here." So yeah - it sucks, but what's wrong with that? "The sweet just isn't as sweet without the sour", afterall, and above the clouds, the sky is always blue.
-Cory G.-
Just a line I've been trying to work into something bigger for years, but I'm packing a bowl right now, have a good glass of beer in front of me, and feel a slight muse coming with this bowl of Warlock X. We'll see...
Sometimes, on a drive to work, the skies open up and wiper blades start their mixed-rhythm dances. The foreboding of another 9 hours of crap (whose only breaks are shrouded with clouds and a steady drizzle) looms heavily on the horizon, and the crushing begins.
The crushing: the sudden self-destroying fatigue of a life in a constant state of stasis. Visions of rock stars mingle with fantasies of movie stardom to form a sludge of barista work and "customer service" that considers "customers" to be numbers and not people. Fuck alliteration - the only things smooth and flowing are the bullshit, corporate rules, and my dry cappucinos (which are fantastic, by the way). And all spured by a gray morning and splashes on the windshield.
Without rhyme or reason, the line continues in my head: I am not Dan McIsaac (www.crawlwalktravel.com -read it or die). That's it - end of discussion. I'm here, and I'll be here tomorrow, and the rain won't stop. It never stops. You have to live here to appreciate Duritz dubbing himself the Rain King. But then it happens...
Without warning, the sky opens again, but in a different sense. The rain still falls, but up in the sky - a bird, a plane, no! It's actual SKY! And it's BLUE!
It's true - the sky is blue. It's not light refracted off the o-zone layer - it just exists as blue. Blue.
Suddenly, the rain drops get smaller, and the traffic opens a lane for me to drive like a New Englander who knows that a little bit of rain doesn't necessitate driving 40 on a 4-lane highway.
And my bosses can act like customers are numbers and worry that the health inspector is constantly waiting in the shadows for a milk to be out for one minute past the timer's beep, but I know better and they don't control me. The people I serve all love me. The tips show it. The Medium non-fat no-foam decaf lattes I have to make for Marin-ites all day are certainly better than working by myself in a cold warehouse. And then there's the co-workers...
Imperfect. Downright horrible at times. But that's the beauty of it: the girl who bitches about everything, the stoner with the hot girlfriend, the college kid obsessed with the Oakland A's, the philosophical intellectual with no people skills - like any puzzle, independent pieces may be useless, but together we make sure the conversation never ends. The upper management love me and live vicariously through my anarchistic stubbornness, and the young kids that manage shifts constantly try to demean me and establish a dominance that'll never exist. The dynamic is gorgeous.
The clouds fix their mistake quickly and cover the slight blue haze I saw for a minute or two, but it's too late - the beautiful damage is done, and I've once again realized that you don't have to be a witty writer/musician in southeast Asia for life to be "right", and you don't even have to be where you want to be. Jeff Buckley was right - "the only goal is in the process" and the process may not make sense, and may not be right, but hey - I can't see the big picture yet, and as Ben Folds said, "all the wrong turns and stumbles and falls lead me here." So yeah - it sucks, but what's wrong with that? "The sweet just isn't as sweet without the sour", afterall, and above the clouds, the sky is always blue.
-Cory G.-